Foolish
by DGD
Summary: The last battle.


Foolish

It was what would have been Harry's first year out of Hogwarts that Minister Scrigmour was assassinated. The Ministry was then thrown into disarray, pressure from the public to elect a new leader forced the Wizengamot to act hastily. A decision was made that, in time, would bring Voldemort to heights of power even he had never-before dreamed of.

The Dark Lord slowly and methodically spread his pawns across the chessboard that was the Ministry, any resistance was met with an almost dispassionate, cold and more often then not fatal riposte. The Light was backed up and cornered until it fell to the Dark Lord's inevitable checkmate.

Voldemort had been disappointed at the lack of difficulty involved with swaying the new Minister, Humphrey Stockings, and by him the entire wizarding world. Also lacking the epic proportions he was expecting was the battle against the remaining loyal of Dumbledore. A great battle, he had imagined, an awesome victory for which he would have used every ounce of cunning and power to achieve.

In truth, all it had taken to cripple them was a few stealthy missions, the back-bone of the Order had shattered disk by disk.

What was left of the Order of the Phoenix, once the beacon of light in a hopeless world, was reduced to metaphorical ashes. A few witches and wizards who knew they lived on borrowed time, and they had one shot left, trying a final attack against his fortress. They failed. What few of them remained were killed today in a lackluster substitution for his romanticized version of events.

Young Harry's stereotypical Griffindor mentality had served him well in the past. Mostly by luck of course, and the Dark Lord was sure Harry held no illusions to that fact, yet here he had the boy, one foot and half an arm in the grave because he had no other choice then to use it again.

Voldemort's light dragonhide boots landed on the neck of a struggling body on the ground, and a satisfying _crack_ reached his ears. Satisfaction – a concept that had eluded him for so long, one he was more then willing to embrace.

He took in the grizzly battlefield with mild interest, explosions caused my magical residue and debris filled his peripherals, but his eyes were sharp and focused, serpent-like pupils dilated and fully adjusted to the dark.

He was here somewhere, and it was only a matter of time now. The prophecy would come to it's end. Potter, the bane of his existence and cause of his thirteen year exile would see death.

The Dark Lord took in a breath through what could be called his nose, and the air was filled with smoke. In his opinion, it carried an almost celebratory aroma.

Charred bodies lay around the courtyard in a haphazard manner, and Voldemort roughly estimated that around three-quarters of them belonged to Order members.

"Don't be a fool, Potter!" His voice rang out, echoing throughout the rubble, "the battle is over, I've won. There's no use in hiding now, it's you against the world," he paused a second.

"Would you look the reaper in the eye, Harry? Or would you lie in wait..."

A final challenge burst forth,

"I won't die hiding as a coward!" came the cracked and dry voice of his opponent.

"Ah, so he chooses the path of his father," his bemused voice rang out, "Then this is how it ends. I would say it was a pleasure knowing you, but it honestly has not."

Harry stepped out from behind a large piece of broken stone, "Ditto," came his bland reply. He was missing his left arm from the elbow down, and various curse wounds ripped and weaved through his body.

Voldemort raised his wand in a customary salute, a gesture which Harry had no intention of returning.

"Any last words, Potter?"

"Forgive me," he said ,tilting his head up to the sky, "I've failed you."

A grin twisted at the Dark Lord's lips, "Indeed you have, Harry, Indeed you have."

Harry raised his wand sluggishly,

"_Stupefy! Expelliarimus!"_

Voldemort erected a shield, and the weak spells hardly even rippled it's energy.

The Dark Lord looked at him one last time. Eighteen years this boy had haunted him, and now after all the patient waiting, he would finally have his vengeance.

Voldemort looked Harry square in the eyes, "foolish boy."

"_Avada Kedavera!"_

Harry died, falling limply to the ground. It was, as he had feared, anti-climatic.

The Dark Lord walked up to the body, which lay on it's back, and introduced his heel to the cartilage of Harry's nose, resulting in a spray of blood and teeth.

Voldemort chuckled as he wiped his boot off in the grass and started the walk back to his castle, a spring in his step.


End file.
